The Good Fight
by ChrisMetalGod
Summary: A story of a boy who was born in post-apocalyptic America. I will continue the story if I get good feedback.


**Note- Not related to fallout, but a similar backdrop**

"The Good Fight"

By: Chris P. Harrigan

Chapter 1- "Remembering"

The ruins of a once great city at my back. Blackened buildings. The roads are cracked and dry. The dry veins of a once beating heart. It's quite now. That place used to scream with the noise of society. Now there is no society left to scream. After I left the town these sights have been constantly burned into my mind. The bombs fell centuries ago, but still the scars of them are visible. Now I ask myself why I left, as if I had the choice in the mater. The screams of my neighbors still echo in my head. The faces of raiders and marauders flash across my mind. They left the weak and killed the strong; I assume the weak are going to be sold later to slavers. I tried to save some, but I couldn't. I had no hopes of gunning them down. They had automatic rifles, and just more people. I was armed with only my dad's old .44 Magnum, 3 bullets, and his old bowie knife. Not enough to take out all those raiders. I wondered how many there even were. 8? 10? Too many, anyway. So I did the only thing I could do. Run. I don't regret leaving though. That place reminded me of death even before the raiders came. My dad, mom, Peggy. They all died there. When I left all I had was the revolver, 3 bullets, and the knife, and what I could carry in my dad's old backpack he used to use for school. He told me about school. He told me all about the old world. He talked for hours sometimes at night about it. I loved listening. Tales of times when people didn't just "survive", they lived in excess. He told me all about how our town built of ruins used to be a great place, a hub for the old world. What did they call it? The old world name for it was Manhattan. Now it's just called "The Burned City". Probably because it was hit hardest during the war. It was the heart of the old world, put a bullet in the heart and it will bleed, my dad said. But it doesn't matter. Soon the city will belong to the raiders. In the backpack was an extra pair of old world jeans and my dad's old leather jacket with an old Guns n' Roses patch on it, a can of pasta and sauce, a water bottle filled a quarter of the way up with dirty water, an old world map, a bandage roll, an old world piece of music playing technology called an "iPod", my dad's, and a 9 volt battery I jury rigged to charge the iPod. I wiped away thoughts though, it was about a week and a half ago that I left now, miles away from the city, but it still seems like I have to run. I pick myself up from my makeshift camp, a tarp I found that I laid in the back of a burnt out car. I put my headphones in and started listening to one of my dad's favorite bands, Guns n' Roses. It'll be a lonely journey, my only solace being my music.

"The Good Fight"

Chapter 2- "The Plan"

Only now do I really have a plan, well, besides the original plan, which was to run. I am headed for Philadelphia. At least that's the name on the map. Who knows what it's called now. Or if it's even there. For all I know it could be a hole in the ground. I've heard very little of the city before. Mostly because people only know of the world around them now, unlike how my dad described the old world. I am headed there because I need to find a new place to live, or a purpose. I figure that a there must be a large settlement similar to The Blackened City's. Maybe they will except me and let me live among them when I tell them my story. Hopefully it hasn't been hit by raiders like my old home. I see a small structure in the distance. It's almost noon now and I am getting hungry. I start walking toward the structure, an old world gas station. The windows are broken and the drywall is missing in certain areas, a typical sight in the wasteland. The door hinges are rusted off, the door is on the ground to the left of the doorway. I walk in and try the light switch, nothing. The shelves that once were stocked with food and other goods are now bare. All that I could find was half a box 9 volt batteries, and some lighter fluid in a drawer. I went over to the register. Under the register drawer there were two more bullets for my revolver, now I am one short of a full clip. I also found a key, with a masking tape labeled, "Back Room". I scanned the wall for a door, nothing. The other wall now. I looked hard and saw a door half hidden by a poster. I pushed the poster aside and tried to open the door with the key. The key was broken. I thought about walking away after that, but my curiosity got the best of me. I took out my .44 magnum and loaded it with one of the new found bullets. I aimed the nose of the gun down toward the lock of the door. I've never actually shot the gun before so I was nervous. I got ready and pulled the trigger. The gunshot was like a pin in my eardrum, and the gun's kickback was bad, but the lock was broken and the door opened. It was dark, but the light from a window was giving the room some illumination. There was a grimy tile floor, and a table and some chairs, a small double door cabinet on the wall and an opened door to a small, ill-attended bathroom. I couldn't believe my eyes, on the table was a small black zippo lighter, with a yellow radiation symbol on it…how appropriate for the occasion. Lighters were hard to come by in the wastes, so they were like gold. I filled it with the little bit of lighter fluid I found, I was lucky to find that. I have a feeling I will have to burn vodka or other alcohols once the fluid runs dry. I then open the cabinet hoping for some food. Nothing. I suppose I will have to eat the canned pasta and sauce I have been saving. I sit at the table and get ready to open the can, when I hear a slight noise outside. I hear an angry yell and a series of barks. I throw my can back into my backpack, and unsheathe my dad's bowie knife. I slowly climb out the back window, as not to alert anyone. I hear an angry man shout "Maybe this will teach you to not drop my stuff again, mutt!". I look beyond the corner of the building. I see the angry man facing the dog, loading his gun, aimed at the fear-stricken dog with a sack that was strapped to it on the ground next to it, its contents spilling out. The dog looked like a German shepherd mixed with a husky. Quickly I snuck over, behind the man. I didn't know what I was going to do but I had to do something. The dog noticed me, and it's eyes drifted over to me, quickly I motioned for the dog to stop looking at me, and it's eyes snapped back to the man's gun. The man noticed the dog's shift of attention, and started to turn around to look. I panicked and took my bowie knife and drove it into his armpit, into his heart. The man's face went white, and he dropped his gun and bullets he was loading into it. I slid the crimson covered knife out of his armpit, and the man dropped to the ground. I checked his pulse, gone. The dog barked three times, and started wagging his tail. But then he must've noticed the look on my face because he looked sad then. I've never killed anything but snakes, never mind a man. I just sat there with my hand covered in the man's blood. "I never meant to kill him but he was going to kill you." I murmured to the dog. He brushed up against me and licked my face as if to thank me. I stood up and walked away from the body. "I don't like what I've done, but we can't let these supplies go to waste, right?" I asked the dog. I picked up the gun and ammo the man was planning to use on the dog. A bolt action .308 rifle with iron sights, a good hunting rifle. I checked the cartridge; I count the bullets in it. It's full and it holds eight bullets. I throw the rifle sling over my chest, so the rifle is on my back. I grab the sack that was strapped to the dog. There is a can of beans on the ground and 4 more .308 bullets on the ground and half a pack of cards and some bread in the sack. I put everything into my backpack and put the empty sack over my arm, and load it with all my ammo, for fast and easy access. I also notice a black and red bandanna on the man's head. I took it and wrapped around my head. A bandanna can be useful in the wastes. I motion for the dog to follow me, and we walk back into the gas station shop, into the back. I open the can of beans, and divide the beans, half and half. My first meal in the wasteland is being shared with a dog. I talk to the dog and ask his name, as if he will respond. All he does is turn his head. We finish the beans, and both start to fall asleep in the corner, I keep him warm under my arm inside the leather jacket. I listen to my iPod again as I'm falling asleep. I say to the dog, "How does Axl sound for your name?" The dog just sleepily looks up and licks me. Night, Axl. I soon drifted off to sleep, I knew we had a tough road still ahead.

…to be continued


End file.
